


To Be At Peace with OCD and Germaphobia

by LiteralTrashFor_Everything



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Cleaning, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, Germaphobia Awareness, Kissing, M/M, Married Life, No Smut, OCD Awareness, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Soft Sakusa Kiyoomi, Volleyball, wholesome content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27828862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiteralTrashFor_Everything/pseuds/LiteralTrashFor_Everything
Summary: Being at peace with your own mental struggles and thoughts can be something difficult for even the most confident of people.  Thankfully, you have your partner who’s all too understanding and respectful of your thought process.  You, as his soulmate, are equally as dutiful in respecting his boundaries.  These together create the single most wholesome and fulfilling life that you’ve built with him.All it takes is a little time.A little patience.For you, he has more patience than he knew was even possible.  For you, he’ll wait forever, and so would you.||Date Published - December 1st, 2020||Ongoing||
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	1. A Bit of Information

This story is completely centered around bringing awareness to things such as OCD and germaphobia. I really wanted to write something centered around the habits/compulsions centered around these two things, which I struggle with every day. On top of bringing awareness to these things, I also wanted to show you guys how I believe Sakusa really is since his entire character has been made into a joke by the fandom. 

When most people write Sakusa, they tend to write him as someone who will absolutely not initiate physical affection or if he does then he needs to sanitize everything before doing so. Showers, bleach, sanitizers, etc. I wanted to give light to what germaphobia is really like because frankly, this type of writing is very offensive to those of us struggling with this every day. There is more to us than our fear of germs. We still want physical affection. If we are in a relationship, we trust our partner to respect our cleanliness tendencies.

I hope you’ll all enjoy this little book and educate yourself on germaphobia and contamination OCD 😊 This is an important topic for many people. I’d love to see Sakusa being represented as more than just his germophobic tendencies and instead represent a community of people who, while they struggle, can also live very happy and fulfilling lives.

This series won’t have any set date for when it will be updated. Every chapter will be very short, and they’re all based entirely around my own thought process and things I struggle with. If you guys want me to add other characters into this series, then I welcome suggestions and requests! If you have any questions, then please feel free to ask them. I want people to be educated. I want this to be healthy reading material for many people. No angst, no smut, just soft fluff that revolves around the daily thoughts of someone who struggles with these things. If this book gets enough recognition, I'd love to add to it for other mental health recognition and maybe turn it into a series to address things like depression and other forms of anxiety as well. We'll see.

Please, I hope you’ll all stay safe and healthy. During this last month of 2020, I hope you’ll all remember to social distance but I also hope you can all get out and enjoy the last of this year. Go out, make a snowman or give a present to a child in need. Try to make this month the best of the year for yourself and for others. 😊 I hope you all enjoy.

Fun Fact: The title of this story is also the title of a chapter from a poetry book I’ve been working on.

-Author-chan 


	2. it takes a little time | s. kiyoomi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~give it a little time and you'll be ready for more than you thought you'd ever be~

There was nothing outwardly special about Sakusa Kiyoomi save for his very attractive and popular physical appearance, athletic ability, and occasional odd tendency. Sometimes he’d grumpily grab a handwipe to wipe down the handle of the shopping cart, annoyed with his own insistent mind to put in that little bit of effort. On occasion he’d go to bed without showering just so he could get to sleep. Most mornings he didn’t even make his bed.

Those small things were little quirks that very few knew about him. It wasn’t that it was particularly a secret, but he supposed that some of his classmates or teammates might be surprised to hear about all the times he forgot to pack a hand sanitizer in his bag. To him, these things were entirely normal pieces of his life and that’s how it’s always been. The people of his life simply imagined him being the type to bleach his hands every time he shook hands with someone. While he usually washed his hands afterward, he wasn’t going to bleach them. If washing his hands wasn’t in the realm of possibility at that moment, it wasn’t like he was going to throw himself out a window to escape the disgust of having someone’s germs on his hand. He’d subtly be wary of that hand and make sure not to touch his face until he could wash it.

Sakusa Kiyoomi was not particularly special. He was a teenage boy, he still had gross habits, sometimes he got lazy, and he was still in need for an emotional connection with someone.

At the very beginning of your relationship, physical contact was limited. On dates, you would both contentedly walk shoulder-to-shoulder down the street. There was no panic in fear that you or him was going to abruptly reach for the other person’s hand; you’d both already established your feelings on it. No need to frantically wipe sweaty palms on pants. It was the most relaxed you’d ever been, and the date went perfectly. Sakusa paid for the meal, even when you argued that you wanted to pay. He just smirked a little and shrugged his shoulders, then put on a squirt of sanitizer after touching the bills.

Physical affection was a soft and slow approach. Neither of you were sure how to comfortably initiate it, minds racing in fear that the other person’s hand would be drenched in sweat.

Thankfully, Sakusa was very smart. When he was ready, he’d picked you up on a date and immediately asked if you would be comfortable with locking pinkies with him. You were overwhelmed with happiness, wanting to feel his skin against yours in a way that wouldn’t send your poor panicked mind into a frenzy.

Sakusa held up a hand, a smile forming on his face. His mask was tucked safely below his chin. You hooked your much smaller pinky around his. His skin was very warm, but not sweaty. He lowered your arms to sway between you, pinkies locked, and took you to a movie that night with your pinky almost never leaving his.

From there, a silent pact had been established. It was an obvious physical binding to one another that proved you were his, and he was yours. Classmates often saw the two of you talking during lunch with your pinkies locked. It was almost subconscious. When the two of you were together, you were already reaching your hands forward to lock pinkies like second nature. Neither of you even realized you were doing it.

Initiating more physical contact was easier after that. After a pleasant evening out with your boyfriend, pinkies interlocked, you would never forget the night he asked you if he could kiss you. Panic seized your chest. Fear. What if your breath smelled bad? What if he wanted to use tongue? What if _he_ tasted bad?

Still, you agreed. You didn’t want to let him down because of your fear, so you shut your eyes tightly and waited for him.

You were pleasantly surprised to feel his warm lips press into your cheek. His breath tickled over your face, smelling minty. He pulled away after a quick second and settled his eyes on your bright red cheeks. His heart was pounding as he awaited your reaction. Hopefully you weren’t disappointed. The two of you had been together for almost six months now, hopefully you weren’t expecting more.

When you opened your eyes, they were beaming. His fear settled and he immediately smiled. The widest grin spread across your face.

“Can I kiss you, Kiyoomi?!” you asked excitedly, pointing to your own cheek to show him where you wanted him.

Omi chuckled. He leaned down so he was face-to-face with you. You leaned forward, pressing your soft lips to his cheekbone. Your eyelashes fluttered as you pulled away and looked at his face. He looked just as happy as you.

So, cheek kisses became normal as well.

Then forehead kisses. Then, at last, after thorough planning, many mints, and a water bottle, he asked to kiss you. You, thankfully, were prepared. Heart pounded in your sternum from the second he’d leaned down to press his lips to yours. He tasted like the many mints he’d eaten throughout the date. It was just a small kiss, nothing extreme, but it still meant the whole world and more to you.

All it took was a little time. Both of you were willing to wait an eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going on a date with me is literally just me being afraid, terrified, of my partner reaching for my hand or trying to kiss me. Yes, I understand that it's cute with the unexpected kiss or the subtle hand grab. I totally agree that it's cute, hell, I even write it in a lot of my other stories. I wanted to give a little perspective into dates with someone with germaphobia, or rather, two someones.


	3. what you think is too much | s. kiyoomi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~your personal comfort is valid~

As far as the amount of cleaning things Sakusa Kiyoomi owned, it wasn’t nearly as many as people believed. He kept cleaning materials under all bathroom sinks, along with a miniature oil-diffuser on the counter of each one. Naturally, he also had cleaning things under the kitchen sink. On the living room coffee table was another oil diffuser, though this one was a gift from his partner which he was more than happy to receive. In his bag he usually carried a small bottle of hand sanitizer, along with some wet-wipes and a ziplock bag of masks he knew were safe to wear should he feel he needed one. He never wore single-use masks, knowing the damage they caused to the environment. He’d rather risk his health than risk the mask causing litter on the street or find its way into the ocean.

As far as the amount of cleaning things Sakusa Kiyoomi owned, it wasn’t much more than a normal person.

He wasn’t going to bleach his hands every time he touched someone. He wasn’t going to throw away a jacket if it brushed someone’s shoulder. He didn’t carry a wide array of random cleaning materials when he traveled. Usually just private things. He preferred to shower before anyone else to avoid germs from others. That, and he hated the already wet tiles from someone else’s shower water on his bare feet. Quiet an unpleasant sensation, but it wasn’t going to put him into a frenzy.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure who put this rumor throughout the school that he was someone who carried bottles of bleach with him to away games for volleyball. His teammates never saw anything particularly out of the ordinary with him other than his complete unwillingness to come near another person’s sweaty body. Though, that was both for himself _and_ for them. Nobody wanted his sweaty body touching them, and he didn’t want theirs.

Kiyoomi, after a long trip away, would usually return to Tokyo wiped out and find his way to his partner’s outstretched arms. He’d drop his bag on the floor in the doorway, lazily kick off his shoes, and shuffle his way to you. You would carefully wrap your arms around his tired form and settle on his lap while buried in one of his hoodies you’d stolen because you missed him. He’d nuzzle his nose just below your ear, taking in the fresh scent of your shampoo.

Then, after a few minutes of quiet cuddling, he’d stand up to unpack his things. All clothes, even the ones he hadn’t used, were thrown in the laundry basket and chucked in the washing machine to be run twice. Then, they were put through the drier two times with a little extra scented stuff added. The few things he had brought as a safety measure (like the miniature duster), were set aside to be cleaned and ready for whenever his next trip would be. There was only a few things, but even he had to question if it was normal to even have those things. Self-consciousness tugged at him.

“Is it weird to bring these things?” he asked, sitting crisscross on the floor while wiping down the outside of a package of wet-wipes.

You turned to look at him, holding a halfway folded and freshly washed jersey. It took you a few moments before you realized what he was referring to, and another few moments to come up with an answer.

“Does it make you happy to bring those things?” you asked, tone serious.

Omi continued wiping down things, brows furrowed in thought.

“I don’t know that it makes me happy. . . but it makes me comfortable which I guess is the same thing.”

“Then it’s not weird, Omi,” you told him honestly, “your comfort is valid.”

Kiyoomi never wondered again if the extra care for his health was weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that the fandom imagines Sakusa as being the type of character who carries bleach with him on a daily. For the life of me I cannot understand why he's misrepresented so heavily. Why would he carry bleach with him? Why has he been made into a character who can barely function without needing to "sanitize"? Please put a little more perspective into what it's really like before you misrepresent a character who has so much more to him.


	4. home | s. kiyoomi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~home is a comfort space where perfection could never possibly exist~

You leaned over the counter, carefully wiping down the surface with your hips swaying to the sound of the music blaring from your speaker. Sakusa was at practice. You could imagine the gleam in his eyes when he’d be returning to a clean home. The kitchen counters would be wiped down from any food or drink spills. The floor would be swept and mopped, ensuring that it was safe for you both to walk barefoot on the cool tiles. Refrigerator handles would be cleaned from fingerprints. The inside of the microwave would be safely wiped down of any food crumbs or splatters on its white walls. 

All things that would be easily looked over, but for you, it wasn’t. The small things stood out to you more than the pile of mail that threatened to fall over on the kitchen island, or the dish towel hanging clumsily from the handle of the oven, daring to slip off and onto the floor. One of Sakusa’s kneepads rested on the counter beside the coffee machine, clumsily placed there when he came home too tired to do anything the night before.

It was a clean home, but sometimes things went neglected for a week or two before either of you made your way to getting it dusted. Sometimes you’d both rather sit on the couch than do the dishes, deciding to just save the hassle for tomorrow morning after breakfast.

On rare occasion, even, Sakusa would skip his usual nightly shower so he could just take a breather and watch a movie with you (provided he didn’t smell _too_ bad).

Your home was littered with pieces of normalcy that you shared with your husband, despite the two of you being germophobic. It was the safe space for the two of you, where things could be left neglected for a time and it wouldn’t result in the end of the world. Maybe just a little complaining, but not the end of the world.

You jolted as you felt a soft pat on your butt. You turned, looking at your husband who was smiling behind you. Immediately, you dropped your washrag. He outstretched a long arm and you were quick to latch onto it in a hug. It was the least sweaty part of him. You loved your husband, truly, but hugging his sweaty for was something your mind wouldn’t allow and he knew this. So, you settled for hugging his arm and nuzzling your nose affectionately against his thick wrist.

“How was practice?” you asked, turning to look at his face.

Omi pulled out of your hold and went to the fridge. His eyes glowed at seeing everything organized and the shelves freshly wiped down (frankly, he neglected it more than he liked to admit). He grabbed a cold water bottle and screwed open the lid to take a gulp. You patiently waiting for him to finish hydrating.

“It was long. Bokuto was extra loud today.” he stated, wiping a droplet from the corner of his lips.

You giggled, turning back to wiping down the counter. He came up behind you, standing at your side and watching you scrub the stain on the granite.

“I hope you don’t have a headache,” you stated.

Omi hummed a bit. “It’s gone now.”

You were glad to hear it. Your husband placed a quick kiss to the back of your hand, before leaving to take a shower. You watched him go, admiring his form and the way he carried himself. You always took such pride in who you were lucky enough to marry.

Already, you couldn’t wait for him to return.

You finished up in the kitchen, finishing by sweeping and mopping. Once you did (and after it’d dried, of course), you slipped out of your socks and jumped onto the nearest tile. Your eyes beamed at the feeling of the clean floor.

Finally finished, you washed your hands in the kitchen sink then went to the living room. You pulled open your favorite fuzzy blanket and plopped onto the felt couch with a grunt. You buried yourself in the blanket and looked up at the TV. You turned on a random American Christmas movie, burying yourself in a burrito and offhandedly taking note of the dust gathered on the top of the TV.

Your husband returned wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. He sat beside you on the couch, immediately turning to nuzzle his face against your jawline. You beamed from his affectionate nuzzle. Omi grabbed the blanket sitting over the back of the couch and wrapped himself up in a burrito (though, he didn’t completely fit himself in it because he was quite big). Your shoulders brushed against your partners as the two of you contentedly watched the movie.

“We should wipe down the TV before Bokuto comes over tomorrow,” Omi stated, breaking the peaceful moment.

“It’s your job. I’m not tall enough.”

“I’ll lift you.”

“Stop being lazy and go get it wiped down.”

Kiyoomi groaned and untangled himself from the safety of his burrito. He shuffled off to grab a duster. You watched in amusement as he grumpily stretched his arm to wipe it off. After a series of annoyed sneezes, he returned to your side and once again wrapped his big body tight in a burrito. You rolled over to settle onto his lap, not untangling your burrito for a second. You quickly pecked his lips.

“Thank you, Omi,” you said.

“Anytime, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cleanliness and perfection are two very different things. Just because my house is clean, doesn't mean it's perfect. To me, home is (or should be) your most comfortable space where it's okay to get a little lazy. Sakusa isn't the exception. He's going to have days where he won't want to clean something. He's going to have moments where he's tired. And, he's going to be perfectly okay with a little imperfection. He's human, we're human. Germaphobia doesn't suddenly make you perfect.


	5. don't apologize for the way your mind works | s. kiyoomi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~you are not obligated to apologize for the way your mind functions~

Kiyoomi spent some late evenings lost in his thoughts. You usually noticed quickly. It was the way he’d roll over in bed and lay on his side. His bare back would face you and keep you from seeing his face. Some nights are worse than others, you know the struggle. Tonight was one of his bad nights. You can hear the quiet tapping of his fingers on his pillow. He’s been shifting for a while now, which is what originally woke you up.

Omi yanks the blanket off his body and moves to sit up.

You reach forward, cautiously grabbing hold of the back of his shorts. He stops and turns to look at you. You stare up at his face sleepily, scanning over his stressed face. He sighs and slumps a little. Omi turns away from you to run a hand through his hair. You sit up, wrapping your arms around his waist carefully and place the gentlest of kisses on his shoulder.

“Tell me what it is, Omi,” you murmur.

He struggles even now so far into your marriage to tell you what’s going through his brain. For most of his life he never had anyone to listen to his jumbled and crazy thoughts. It seemed like no one would understand, but he knows you will and he knows he needs to tell you before it eats him alive.

“. . . I need to check that the front door is locked. . .” he mumbles, voice heavy with sleepiness. “So that I know no one will break in to. . . hurt you.”

You squeeze him a little and press another kiss against his shoulder.

“Let’s go do it together, alright?” you offer.

You can practically feel the guilt rolling off him. He lowers his head and hides his face in his hands. You shuffle until you’re sitting beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder. You look at him and the way he covers his face.

“I’m sorry I woke you up over something stupid. . .” he says. “I know the door is locked but I just. . . have to check.”

You rub soothing circles into his back. You know his struggle, you do. You’re the same way in some things. It’s easy for you to understand him but you know he’ll never see that. He still struggles every day and night with his mind. It’s hard for Kiyoomi to let you see this vulnerable side to him, but he gets better at showing you every time.

“I know, Kiyoomi. It’s alright.” you say. “I know you have to check, so we’ll do it together.”

Omi recognizes the warmth in his chest instantly. He always feels it when he’s with you because you always manage to take him by surprise. He’s so grateful to have you. He stands up and holds your hand to help pull you up from the bed. He feels guilty for waking you up at 2:07 AM and dragging you downstairs to the living room, but he also wants to have you with him while his brain is screaming that you’re going to die if he doesn’t do this. He needs you close so he can protect you _just in case._

The living room is dark and cold compared to the bedroom. You scuffle a little closer to Kiyoomi’s body to take in some of his natural warmth. He doesn’t seem to mind, or even notice, because his dark eyes are locked on the doorknob to the front door.

Sure enough, just as he knew it would be, the front door is already locked. He’s reaching forward before he’s even processed it, pulling the door to see if it opens. It doesn’t. He unlocks the door, then locks it again. He pulls. Then, he does the same thing five more times for an even number of six.

You see his shoulders visibly relax at the sixth try. A yawn spills from his lips, like he’s been holding back all his tiredness. You smile and jump to kiss his cheek.

“Great job, Omi. You protected us. Do you need to check anything else?” you ask, reaching up to push his bangs from his face.

Kiyoomi’s dark eyes turn toward you. He’s smiling now.

“No. Let’s go to bed.”

There are other nights when this happens, though the roles are reversed and instead it’s your brain screaming at you. It’s 1:58 AM when you wake up to itchy skin and a pounding headache. You curl up a little and hold your head. Kiyoomi’s arms are around your middle while he sleeps cluelessly behind you, spooning you from behind.

He’s warm, clean. He’s the comfort in your life you appreciate every day, or try to. But right now he feels sticky, gooey. Right now he feels faraway because your thoughts are faraway. You need to shower or you’re certain you’ll give him an incurable disease. He’ll hate you for certain if you stay in bed and dirty him with whatever substance has made it’s way to your skin. It feels like there are a million bugs crawling all over you.

You pull yourself from his arms as tears well in your eyes. The second you’ve freed yourself, you’re stumbling to the bathroom. You turn the water up to its highest setting, feeling the steam instantly cloud.

You’re checking your skin for bugs as you pull off your clothes. You know there won’t be any but still you check. You throw them onto the floor and step into the shower. The water burns your skin and you flinch a little, but don’t move away. You cover your mouth as you cry because your husband is sleeping peacefully in the other room and the last thing you want to do is wake him up. You’re hugging your upper body with your free arm while you screw your eyes shut as tight as possible because you’re afraid to see the bugs washing off your skin—

Suddenly, the water is not as hot. You open your eyes to see your husband. He’s still wearing his pjs as he stands halfway in the shower with you, dark eyes focused on your flushed face. Omi turned down the hot water, but you can see where it burned his back as he reached through it to turn down the heat.

“Omi. . .” you whisper.

He sighs tiredly. He slips out of his wet pj pants and steps fully into the shower. He looks tired and you feel guilty when his arms wrap around you.

“You hurt yourself. . .” he mumbles, eyeing your bright red and stinging skin.

You rub your upper arm, biting your bottom lip to keep it from wobbling because you’re really trying not to cry. Omi knows you better than anyone, though.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers. “What was it?”

You burst into sobs then, the hiccupping kind. You’re holding onto him tightly as guilt washes through you.

“I thought I was going to make you dirty and gross and there were bugs—I-I thought there were bugs—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Kiyoomi.”

You know you’ve stepped into dangerous territory because now you’ve ignited one of his triggers with the bug comment. He doesn’t say anything, though. He just rubs your back and keeps you close to him while the cool water washes over your bodies.

“C’mon. . . Let’s get cleaned up then go sleep in the living room, alright?”

Kiyoomi’s hands were gentle as they cleaned you. He was extra gentle tonight, very mindful of your fragile skin. When you were both sufficiently cleaned up, he wrapped a clean towel around your body, then another around his waist, before taking you to the bedroom. You both ignored the bed entirely as you helped one another get dressed. The bed could be dealt with tomorrow in a better mind set.

Omi holds your hand the whole way downstairs. He makes a pit stop at the hallway closet to grab some blankets and spare pillows, before continuing his way. The two of you get comfortable on the couch. You lay on his chest, exhaustion washing over you.

“I’m sorry, Kiyoomi. . . Thank you. . .” you whisper.

He gently runs his fingers through your hair.

“Don’t apologize for the way your mind works,” he says, pressing a kiss to your hair, “now go to sleep. I’m right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has their own coping mechanisms and with OCD there is an extreme side to it that many people underestimate. The mental illness that "everyone wants" or that "has a positive outcome" is never positive if it's called a mental disorder. You're entitled to the way you feel, but please take precautions to make sure it won't cause you physical harm. And please, please, be understanding if you ever encounter someone struggling with their intrusive thoughts. They're never ending, so please be understanding of the person with a coping mechanism that might seem odd.


End file.
